Lady Diligence
by DaenerysTargary3n
Summary: Life after the war for a broken Harry and Hermione who battle PTSD and how they have to live without Ginny and Ron in Godric's Hollow. The story of them dealing with mental illness and loneliness together but can the Boy Who Lived and the greatest witch of their generation survive in a world without threat, murder and Voldemort?
1. Chapter 1

**Lady Diligence**

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Firstly, I do not own any plot features, characters, places or concepts from the Harry Potter franchise for they belong to the lucky J K Rowling. Secondly, this story involves a lot of mental illness and therapy jargon and minutia so if that doesn't appeal to you or has the potential to unsettle you in some way, consider yourself warned. I will disclose now that I suffer from dysthymia, social anxiety and mythomania so I will most certainly include elements of my own experiences in the writing of _Lady Diligence_. The rating of this story is based on language, adult themes and sexual content. Finally, I'll stop stalling and say that I hope you enjoy - or if not enjoy, are stimulated by - this story and what I do with the characters and review it constantly and hopefully, kindly, but if not I still relish criticism. Happy reading!

DaenerysTargary3n

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><p>As two thirds of the Golden Trio stood before the house that was once a home, neither could find a word apt enough for their new situation. The young man and woman were homeless, neither had a place to call their own in the world and both had naturally fallen in with each other in the aftermath of The Battle of Hogwarts that had stripped them of their friends, their families and even their lovers. The man who had only just relinquished his boyhood had sacrificed his formative years, his happiness, his sanity and his normality to the quest to vanquish the Dark Lord while the woman who had grown up years before her time forswore her heart, her unblemished body, her strength and her books to ensure that evil did not occlude the lightness of the world. So, they were perfectly matched in the beginning of the rest of their lives…<p>

"Well, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure but where else can we go, Harry?"

The man looked at her and said, "There's always Grimmauld Place."

"I cannot go back there. That's where we went the last time we were trying to find somewhere safe. It's got too much recent painful history." Hermione Granger whispered back.

"That's true. I don't know if I can stomach living in this place again though, I mean, it's where it all began, really."

Hermione curled her trembling arm around the crook of his elbow, "I know but it's _your _house, Harry. It's where you were first kept safe from Voldemort and now, I think it'll be a haven for you...for us both again."

Harry nodded, "You're right. You're always right. I'd better start making the arrangements then, if we're seriously going to live here. If I send an owl to some magical contractors, will you be able to manage some wards to protect it in the meantime?"

Hermione Jean Granger, once the finest and most skilled and knowledgeable witch of her generation, lowered her tawny eyes to her hands which were shuddering painfully at the prospect of holding a wand again and casting the same charms she had over the past year while she and her best friend had scoured the country for those poxy Horcruxes. Ever since the battle had wound up two days ago and she had cast - hopefully - her last spell in defence of her life, she had not been able to grip her wand or perform any magic. It was as though the previous years culminating in the showdown between the supporters of Voldemort and the followers of the Chosen One had sucked all the magic and the ability to use it right out of her.

"I'll try," she whimpered, feeling truly devoid of worth and value as she missed her capability to spellcast, "but I can't promise anything, Harry, I'm sorry. If I can't, you can and I'll deal with the contractors...that is if I can still hold a quill! You learned all the wards when we were in the Forest of Dean, remember?"

"I know I can cast them, 'Mione, but you need to find your magic again. You were too skilled with it to let it vanish without attempting to rediscover it. Besides, you have always protected me and Ron so it only seems logical to me that you be the one to put up the protective charms here."

The woman beside the great Harry Potter felt undeserving of such praise and such expectations, however, she could not bear to let Harry down, not when he was so magnanimously permitting her to remain by his side as they both tried to reintegrate themselves into magical society after eschewing it for so long to concentrate on saving it. With a curt nod, she delved into her magically deepened satchel and extracted her wand. She paused and reacquainted herself with the weight of it resting in her hand for a moment or two before extending it along with her left hand with the palm open. She lowered her jaw as if to commence the enchantment but just as Harry thought his best friend would speak the words, instead she buckled to the damp footpath below her, dropped her wand and heaved her guts up onto the road.

Within seconds, Harry was kneeling beside her on the ground, pulling her bushy and unkempt hair away from her ashen face as she continued to vomit. Once she managed to stop, she leant back, breathless, into Harry's chest and just cried, mourning the loss of her magic and - in her eyes, for sure - her usefulness and her reason for living.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I'm _so _sorry. I just can't do it. I just can't." She moaned.

"Hush now, hush, it's alright. I'll do the wards. You just sit here," Harry soothed her while he plunged his hand into her bag, "and drink something."

He handed her a bottle of water and stood up with a squeeze to her shoulder. Once the necessary or at least reassuring shields were in place around the Potter house in Godric's Hollow, Harry sat beside his best friend and held her hand.

"You sure you don't mind me staying here, Harry? I know you must be sick of the sight of me after all this time and you probably just want to get on with your life. I can find somewhere else, it's no problem. You just have to say if you've changed your mind, you know?"

Harry felt his emerald eyes dilute with the salty water building up over them, "You are my best friend, Hermione and I am so glad you want to move in with me. It means I won't be alone and I'll have the closest thing I've ever had to a family. I want you to live here with me. It feels kind of right. My parents are dead and your parents' memories couldn't be returned, so why shouldn't we be each other's family when we've both lost our own?"

His companion eased herself into his side and wrapped her arms around Harry the second she observed the first tear escape his eye. It was true what he said and she knew that. Ron still had his family, although it had lost one member, around him and they had welcomed him home from their absence with open and waiting arms. However, for Mr Potter and Miss Granger there was no such greeting when they came out of the final fight in the war against Voldemort.

Two weeks later (magical contractors were a right sight faster at finishing their jobs than their Muggle equivalents), the pair were safely and finally moved in. They had been dwelling in the one room on the property - James Potter's study - that had been unscathed by the attack that had killed its user but they were finally ready and the work was finally complete to shift into their individual chambers. Harry had adamantly informed everyone that he had no intention of sleeping in the master bedroom but that he wanted to assume his old place in the Potter house so they had decided that his former nursery would be renovated into a bedroom. Hermione had reluctantly acquiesced to Harry's request that she occupy his parents' old room because - according to him - it would make him feel better if he knew someone was nearby and in the room where two people who protected him lived and he could think of no one more suited to honour their memory in that way than Hermione, his contemporary protector.

The first night of their new lives in their own bedrooms and sleeping apart, it was Hermione who roused the house as she screamed shrilly into the night.

"Hermione, Hermione!" Harry bellowed as he sprinted into the neighbouring room and discovered Hermione writhing about and sweating profusely on the wide bed.

"Get away from me," she shouted, "no, no, no, leave me alone! I don't know where the sword came from! I'm innocent! Leave me alone...please!"

Tears began to stream from Harry's eyes as he realised what his best friend was experiencing in her dreamscape that was causing her to scream so and gyrate as though in searing and unimaginable pain.

He held her down and rested his head close so that his lips were inches away from her ear and murmured gently, "It's alright, Hermione. It's alright, you're safe now. You're not at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix is dead and the war is _over_. You're at home with me in Godric's Hollow. Wake up, Hermione. I've got you."

As the saviour of the wizarding world tried to save his best friend from former public enemy no.2 who inhabited her dreams, he noticed that while he spoke, her heart beat slowed and her movement became less violent. He knew that even if she didn't consciously register that he was in her bed, she was aware that he was nearby and that she was not in solitude battling against the evil bitch who had dared to inflict the Cruciatus curse multiple times on Hermione. That in itself was a balm to both.

In the moments and weeks after he had routed the threat of Voldemort and his followers, Harry Potter had been experiencing emotions that he had never encountered before he found out his blood had magic flowing through it. The fulfillment of his prophecy and seemingly his life's task, which he didn't expect to survive, had coerced him into experiencing feelings of uselessness, pointlessness and inconsequence. Apparently, the same sentiments the woman in his arms was feeling at the same time.

When Harry approached Hermione the next morning, she had no recollection of her night terror and how it roused him from his bed. He had a feeling she was in denial but the young man had no way to be sure either way.

"I'm sorry. I woke you and on your first night properly at home too. You must be awfully angry with me. I'm sorry. I do have nightmares from time to time but more often since the battle. They aren't usually so violent that I disturb anyone else or have no memory of them whatsoever."

Harry waved off her apologies, "It's fine, 'Mione. After all, how many times have you helped me get back to sleep after a nightmare? Have you ever thought of taking some sleeping draught?"

She nodded, "I do take a vial of sleeping draught. A vial a day keeps the insomnia away. I used to not sleep at all before all the nightmares so I already used the draught but they don't have enough potency to quell the nightmares too."

Her companion, despite knowing her since they were eleven years old, had no idea she had been downing sleeping draughts. She had never spoken of difficulty sleeping ever but upon reflection, he had to wonder at his incredulous stupidity and lack of observation skills. The reason she had been there to comfort him during nightmares and yank him out of them on occasion was because she had heard him (from the girls' dormitory no less!) as she was burning the midnight oil. In the light of his being a complete and utter dunderhead (a term used frequently by Miss Weasley if he remembered correctly), his feelings of inadequacy tripled.

"I'm sorry I never noticed. What can I say? I'm a complete arse."

Hermione embraced him, "No, you're not. You're Harry James Potter, the man who saved us all. You can't take care of us all too, you know? That was supposed to be my job..."

He turned in her arms, "You still have that job and you were always so good at looking after us, 'Mione. We - I - would have been truly lost without you."

The pair wound up making their gestures to continue making adjustments to their home. Neither were that interested in interior decoration, however, they were both making the effort for each other. They did their work separately but had agreed that the _pièce de résistance _would be put in its place by both residents together before they retired.

After a quick evening meal, the witch and wizard moved into the hallway and stood before the conspicuously bare section of wall which was the first thing one saw upon entrance into the house. With a deep breath and having grasped Hermione's hand for courage and comfort, Harry raised his restored holly and phoenix feather wand up to let its effervescent and entrancing Mountbatten pink make its mark on the wall.

Hermione squeezed her best friend's hand as she watched the flow of greyish magic pour from the tip of his wand and come into contact with the blank wall. The magical force was created a rectangular shaped canvas that filled the space. As it developed the fabric changed colour all over until Hermione could make out the faces of the people whom the canvas was replicating. First she identified the faces of Harry's parents, then Sirius and Remus, followed by Moody and Tonks. As the details were brought out, the visages of Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Fred Weasley and Colin Creevey were in front of her. As the work of art moved into its final stages of creation, the images of her parents came into existence.

"Harry, why? They're not dead."

Harry faced her and looked deeply at her through waterlogged eyes, "Your parents may not be physically dead, but they did die in the fight against Voldemort and to keep someone they loved safe. They died as your parents, 'Mione, they died emotionally and practically as your parents. Their loss was so that you and I would be safe and able to find the Horcruxes without fearing that Death Eaters had taken your family to get to you and insodoing, me. They belong here just as much as my parents do. The war with Voldemort took them away from their child, just as it did with my parents."

After they had shed all their tears and dampened each others' clothes, Harry and Hermione ascended the stairs and went to bed in their respective rooms. Hermione imbibed her sleeping draught and curled up in bed and Harry dressed down to only his bottoms and chose to lie atop the covers to feel the cool night. It was a sensation that reminded him of the frigid night air when they had been camping in the Forest of Dean. An unfortunate final thought to have before succumbing to his fatigue.

Hermione was in the early stages of a nightmare as usual, but the dream had not reached critical stages yet and she was able to claw her way back to consciousness from the nightmare in which Cedric brought Harry's corpse back from the cemetery instead of the other way round. She had only just witnessed the champions set off into the labyrinth when a harsh din interrupted her slumber. As she stirred, it dawned on her that the racket was coming from the room next door. It was Harry bellowing in agony.

So, just as he had done for her, she flew into his bedroom to see his arms flailing about and his pyjama bottoms damp with the perspiration that was making them cling to his clammy skin and his face was flushed in torment.

"Harry!" She gasped before she traversed the distance from his door to his bed and threw herself on top of it so she lay parallel to her unconscious friend.

"Mum, dad, don't go! Please don't leave! Sirius, come back! Come back, damn you! Why? Why did you have me, mum, if you were just going to leave me here? What's the fucking point?"

She couldn't work out what was going on in Harry's addled mind but from the silent tears plummeting from his already bloodshot eyes, she knew that wherever he was he was in the most acute pain. He had soothed her in her hour of need and now - just as she used to when she had purpose and he used to have night terrors at Hogwarts - he needed her to safeguard him from the demons which plagued his sleep.

Once she managed to hold him in the vice that her strong arms created, she spooned him so he could feel the entirety of her form stretched behind him, fully supporting him and entirely with him in real life. After years and years of practice she had perfected the art of lulling the Boy Who Lived but really the Boy Who Suffered back to restful sleep. All she had to do was get him to let her lie beside him without taking her eye out or breaking her nose and then she just hummed softly to him. It never particularly mattered what tune she chose but tonight's choice was a track she had overheard on the radio when they had stopped at a cafe on Church Lane after pausing for a time at the Potter Memorial in the heart of the village. The singer was a popular British woman called Adele and the song just spoke volumes to her in the wake of the war and after losing so many dear ones. By the chorus she even felt that she needed to croon softly the lyrics as her humming turned to singing.

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet,_

_But I will never do you wrong._

_I've known it from the moment that we met,_

_No doubt in my mind where you belong._

_I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue,_

_And I'd go crawling down the avenue._

_No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do_

_To make you feel my love._

"I didn't know you could sing." Harry muttered as the beautiful sound roused him, but roused him pleasantly.

"I can't really, but I love that song. It's so mournful but hopeful, it's so apologetic but assertive. It's who I used to be before the battle. I used to be so sure of everything, I used to know where I was going, what I was doing and what my goals were. Now...now, I'm not sure I have any. Sorry for waking you up, by the way."

"I don't mind. It was a nicer way to wake up than I expected after that nightmare. Thank _you _for coming to save me from it," Harry whispered, before turning still in her tight embrace to face her, "but I do have one question. What about the battle affected you so? I mean, we've been through a lot. You yourself have been petrified, persecuted for being Muggle-born, attacked by werewolves, dogs and dementors, sunk to the bottom of a lake, cursed by Death Eaters, tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, assaulted by a killer snake, Snatchers and you survived all of that. So, I'm just curious as to what ordeal could rattle the famous Hermione Jean Granger so badly that she can no longer use her magic or sleep without nightmares."

Hermione knew she had survived a hell of a lot considering she had only just left school but she gave her most trusted friend the answer he sought regardless of her inhibitions, "Well, you know that during the battle, Ron and I kissed. We kissed in the Chamber of Secrets but in the fight afterwards when I saw Remus and Tonks lying so close to each other with their hands just touching and I thought of Teddy, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. He was so kind and the dearest soul I've ever met but he's left a boy orphaned, just like your dad. I guess I thought the point of all the magic and potions that have been spent since 1981 was to finally get rid of Voldemort and stop children like you were from losing their parents to evil, megalomaniac bastards. We couldn't save Teddy's parents though and you're his godfather and you very nearly died and now you've come and locked yourself away from society with me, just like Sirius was. It's just so heartbreaking, Harry, the number of times I've read _Hogwarts: A History _and thought about changing history and the way events unravel, I just can't accept that history is repeating itself so similarly...AGAIN!"

As per usual, Hermione with all her knowledge had over-thought and over-analysed everything to the extent where it had driven her mad. Harry had always depended on Hermione and her bookishness to see him through and as an innately positive aspect of his life, but her awareness and understanding of times gone past and how history worked had cost her dearly...had cost her her power.

"After all that, I knew I just couldn't be in a relationship with Ron - or anyone for that matter - because we fought for relationships and they have just crumbled around us. I helped bring about the change with you and Ron but I know in my heart that I'm not part of the solution, the better world we were fighting for. I don't have to fight. I have enough money to simply be for the first time in forever, to figure out where I fit into this huge and torrid mess."

"I understand. Thank you for telling me."

She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes, "It's your turn to do some sharing, Potter. Out with it. What happened to you afterwards? You never did tell me and I've just blabbed my story so have at yours!"

"It's simple really. I'm a simple kind of guy; I'm not as clever or complicated as you. It was Ginny...Ginny happened. I was fine, well not fine, but I was coping until she came at me. Fred was dead and she screamed at me by where Hagrid's hut used to be that his death and all the death was my fault. I thought she was dragging me out there to ask to get back together or something like that and I loved her. To hear the person you love and hoped to spend the rest of your life with blame thousands and thousands of casualties of war on you flips a switch somewhere and then the lights turn off and when you want to find the switch and turn yourself back on, you can only fumble for it in the dark."

Hermione enclosed him tighter in her arms and rested her head between his neck and shoulders to just listen to the sound of their heartbeats, not beating in synchronicity, but beating all the same.

"I had an idea today, Harry. I think both of us need to see and talk to someone about this. We need counselling so we can get better. The things we've been through and seen are horrible and we can't spend every night running to each other's room because they're having a nightmare. What would happen if we were both deep in a nightmare at the same time? We'd be alone. I know a few of the Hogwarts students have been sent for counselling at St Mungo's and I think we should go too - together or separately, whatever you like, but we should go."

Harry smiled, liking the way she was portraying the former version of herself by telling him to do something and finding out about it. It was a shadow of Hermione Granger as she used to be when they actually attended Hogwarts before she got lost and overwhelmed by the search for the Horcruxes and obliviating her relatives. He missed that clever, socially inept, proud but vulnerable girl. He preferred her to this Lady Stoneheart (where had he read that name? Harry was sure it wasn't original...) who had lost her compassion and her drive and locked the entire world - save him - out of her heart.

"I'll go. Can we go together and see what comes of it? Just to start off with?" Harry petitioned her.

She stroked his cheek fondly, as a mother might her son, "Of course. Now, go to sleep and think nice things so you don't end up thinking about them."

"Okay," he replied with a yawn, "goodnight, 'Mione."

She left the comfort of his bed and just as she passed through the door, she mumbled to herself, "Goodnight, Harry. Don't ever stop listening to me. You're the only one keeping me alive."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **If you look at my profile on , you will see that one of my heroes listed is my godbrother, Michael Pruss, who is amazing to me and whom I don't deserve. This story is dedicated to the memory of his brother, Tim, who died when he was eighteen years old who still has a big role in my life and the lives of everyone who loved and cared about him. When I'm feeling most alone, I talk to Tim sometimes and I know that he's listening and is with me along with my nan and granddad and pops and everyone else who has died but whom I still need. So, this is my thank you to Tim and yet another way of memorialising him. I hope you enjoy this story, which will have six chapters altogether, and will leave it good reviews.

DaenerysTargary3n

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><p>The pair of teenagers were sitting in a beautifully decorated office that had wonderful Neville Johnson furnishings, not taking any comfort whatsoever from the homely furniture as was intended by the interior decorator. They had just finished their first appointment with the psychiatrist they had decided to meet with biweekly together before they saw their individual doctors. Dr. Mecklewit was most sought after therapist in the British Isles and was a Muggle-born witch. Thankfully, the cost of their therapy was being covered by the fund that was set aside by the Ministry to aid those who had lost and suffered at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Unknown to Hermione though, Harry had agreed with Kingsley, the new leader of the magical world, that he would pay for most of their sessions (he did try to finagle the entire amount but Kingsley and Minerva McGonagall would not have any of his negotiating). He figured that the only reason Hermione required intense contact time with a therapist was because she was his dearest friend. The least he could do was use his legacies from the Potter and Black estates to ease her suffering and burdens.<p>

"Harry, Hermione," Mecklewit greeted them softly as she reentered her office, "sorry to have been gone for so long but I just wanted to confirm my diagnosis and treatment plan with one of my colleagues. It's standard practice here, so there's nothing to worry about."

"It's fine," Harry replied, having been the more loquacious of the two patients, "what's your prognosis for us both?"

Kyanna Mecklewit had trained all her life and endured the hazing and competition involved in a medical education but having listened and marginally comprehended what the pair of young people in front of her had suffered and undergone, she felt utterly at sea. She was at the top of her game in trauma counselling and magically integrated CBT, for despite having all the tools of magic, before she came along, her predecessors in the trade had refrained from utilising Muggle methods and developments in psychiatry.

"Well, you both have PTSD, which is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That was to be expected as an underlying and chronic condition. It is the different psychoses that have built up on top of the PTSD that I wanted to have confirmed. Would you like to discuss this privately or are you both open to me carrying on with you together?"

Hermione made the only movement in the past hour and a half in the wake of Mecklewit's question. She had spoken in bits to answer the therapist's questions and help Harry as much as she could in the narration of some of their exploits, but her dialogue was stilted and did not reveal as much to the other occupants of the office as her body language.

Her arms were closed tightly around her thinning body as though she was embracing herself or more accurately, shielding herself. She refused to make eye contact with Mecklewit and only held Harry's gaze momentarily. The young professional wondered if her female patient would have even left the house she shared co-dependently with her best friend if she had to attend sessions on her own. Her _initial _impression was that the girl had depended on, was wholly dedicated to and had her entire world rooted in Harry Potter.

Once Harry and Hermione had nodded their permission for her to carry on, she continued with a sigh, "Well, Harry, if I can start with you...you have acute depression and Survivor syndrome. We can prescribe you medication to help with that along with regular CBT sessions and psychotherapy. Trust me, I know that sounds bad but believe me, they are all manageable and you can recover from them."

"Thank you, doctor," Harry replied, simply content to have labels other than 'crazy' or 'weak' or 'damaged' to relate to. The fact that he might - in time - regain some semblance of what a normal life was supposed to be (not that he'd ever experienced that phenomenon) was at this juncture just a bonus.

"Hermione, as I've said already, you have PTSD but my colleague, Dr. Wendell-Cassley, agrees with my diagnoses of psychalgia, Anthropophobia and GAD, which stands for Generalised Anxiety Disorder. It is that which has caused you to lose your ability to spellcast and use magical means. The treatments for those are more comprehensive but I think it would be beneficial for you to attend CBT and counselling individually but come with Mr. Potter here. I will prescribe you some medicine but in your condition, I really must stress how important it is that you not attempt to self-medicate with potions or any other substances. You can still have a life, Hermione, there's so much you have the potential to do once you've recuperated from the past few years but in order to reach that point, you have to want to get better."

The pallid, shade of a girl who was barely listening to her words looked up at her with vacant brown eyes and whispered so quietly she could barely be heard, "I'll try."

Little two word statements. That's all Dr. Mecklewit was getting from her newest challenge. If Hermione Granger, the brightest and cleverest witch of her generation, could say what she was expected to now, she did. All the erudite language and years of study were not giving her the words or wherewithal to express her feelings aloud. The Second War had been a waste...such a waste. To have such wizarding talent all but obliterated by warfare and constant threat was more heartbreaking to Dr. Mecklewit because this time the war had taken away the futures of children, had traumatised and victimised children.

"Doctor, is there anything else you need us for? It's just that our time is up and I'm sure you have better things to do, other people to see." Harry asked, unnerved by her silence and apparent introspection.

"No, sorry," she replied, recriminating herself silently for her lack of professional comportment, "I'll be sending your prescriptions through by owl but you'll need to have them filled in a Muggle pharmacy. Somehow, the magical world hasn't yet conjured up a drug that can outdo Citalopram. I'll email reception with the requirements for your next couple of sessions and before you leave today, you can arrange times that suit you with Dante at the desk. He'll set you both up with reminder charms so you'll know when to come back. It's been an honour to meet the two of you and I look forward to seeing you towards the end of the week."

Neither said anything after that. They just nodded, shook Dr. Mecklewit's proffered hand and departed, both anxious to be home after a long stint away from Godric's Hollow.

Once they had made it back into the haven that was their shared house, Hermione went to her soft, paisley armchair and doodled away with no particular design in mind and scribble on sheaths and sheaths of parchment that she ordered in and Harry sat down at his desk to see what letters his new owl, Gorgo, had deposited on his desk. Fortunately, for him his 'fanmail' from people he had never met and now, had no desire to got redirected to the Ministry and while the school year was out, he was paying Dennis Creevey a pretty penny to be him and ensure that none of it made its way to Godric's Hollow. So, the only correspondence he had to deal with was from his friends and acquaintances.

Usually, the letters only required notes and brief replies, but today one caught Harry's eye that necessitated a more considered and lengthy answer. It was in the hand of the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

_Dearest Harry,_

_I am sorry to interrupt your time away rebuilding your parents' house and spending time with Miss Granger. I would not be writing unless I felt it was warranted. You have done and sacrificed much for others' safety and lives and I would not hold you to blame if you had no wish to set foot in the school grounds ever again. However, as the summer is drawing to a close and we are anticipating the return of students and staff, Professor Flitwick and I are deeply concerned that the castle is not safe enough yet for full capacity and the rebuilding is taking longer than we had anticipated. The both of us and the future pupils who will attend school here would be grateful if you would be able to spare some of your time helping us to rebuild the school that trained you to use your magic. While I appreciate your need for privacy, as Headmistress, I must respect the rights of children to learn witchcraft and wizardry more and refashion Hogwarts into a place of learning not a battleground._

_Ever your friend and Head of House,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

It was a moving request from one of the teachers he had esteemed most at school and he knew that McGonagall would not have written to him unless she truly was anxious about the new school year. As Headmistress following the term of Snape and the Carrows, she was probably just trying to keep her nerves in check and make sure she could reassure the incoming students with a complete castle and a stable school, not one that had been ravaged by Unforgivable Curses and the mass casualties produced by the notorious final battle.

"Hermione," Harry called sharply to catch her attention, turning round in his swivel chair, "I think I've got some news for you. Good news."

He added the last two words when he caught sight of her startled expression. They were a futile appendix, however, and he knew well that until Hermione knew all the facts, she would not be able to retreat from the brink of the heart attack looming on the horizon.

"I think I might go to work at Hogwarts for a few days a week...just until the summer is over. McGonagall wrote to me to say she doesn't think that the castle will be repaired sufficiently to host the new students. She needs help."

His housemate tried with all her might to process the information she had just been given but her malfunctioning brain was not letting her wrap her mind around the idea that she would have to attempt to be alone in the house without Harry. He had been cautious and had not left her alone up until now, something the therapist that morning had sensed too judging by her instructions that they travel to her practice as a pair, and with good reason because she honestly did not know if she had the fortitude to be alone, not when she had spent the last year or so in Harry's - or someone she truly trusted - constant company.

"Okay. Well then," she whimpered despite trying not to, "you had best go help. I'm just sorry I don't think I can go back to that place yet."

"I know you can't but you heard what Mecklewit said earlier. You, me, both of us, we can get better so one day maybe you'll be able to go there again, maybe even become a teacher."

Hermione scoffed, "I can't see that happening, Harry. I'm not who I was when I was there. I mean I can't even imagine a time when I'll be able to say a simple levitation charm again let alone any of the more advanced magic I knew. I will never be who I once was and I don't know that I actually want to be her again. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders and had to know that one spell that at the end of the day, when the time came would save the day. How can I live in a world where, if I let myself be like I was, when the next evil bastard with a God complex comes along I am asked to join the fight again? I'd rather live like a squib and broken than be whole and tortured by the like of Bellatrix Lestrange again. Frankly, Harry, I can't think why you of all people want to throw yourself back into all that crap. Being the hero to the students of Hogwarts...aren't you tired of that? It almost got you, me and everyone killed. Fucking hell, Harry, it got your godfather, Remus and Tonks, Fred, Colin...and so many others killed! Are you just going to keep going back until it kills you too?"

Her onslaught and outcry was expected but he was surprised that her main concern was him returning to their alma mater. She was still using her worry for him and her need to protect him to overwhelm her own pain and the fear she had for herself. What Harry Potter did not anticipate was just how full of rage she was, for Hermione never used foul language. She had always clipped both him and Ron soundly round the head when their mouths had to be washed with soap (something she used to be able to accomplish with a spell taught to her by Molly Weasley).

"That's not fair! I am trying, Hermione, I am trying _so hard_. I just want my first proper home - Hogwarts, if it isn't obvious - to be a good place again. It's got nothing to do with being a hero! What has that ever got me? Like you said, basically everyone I've ever loved or remotely cared about has wound up dead because of me or hates my guts, so you think it's even remotely possible in your warped, twisted mind that I want that back? I want to be _normal_, I'm trying to be normal and the way I see it, normal people help their friends when asked and visit their old school. I'm sorry my going is hard for you, most likely because you don't want to be alone, but it will be good for you, 'Mione and I promise I won't be gone too long. Please just don't think I want to go back to all that fighting and dying because the only person I want to need me is you because I'm only hanging on because you're here. Without you, I'm not sure I'd have been able to make it to therapy. Don't you see? We need each other and we can't snipe at each other like we've just done, because if we keep doing so, sooner or later one of us will snap and unlike all the crap we've got in our heads, we won't be able to recover from that."

Hermione heard his words, words that spoke to the damaged core of her soul in a way that no one else's could. She knew she had been unreasonable and out of order to the only person she had left.

"You're right," she whispered, approaching Harry and falling into his open arms, "I'm sorry. I'm pleased that you're getting back out into the real world and out of the house. There's no reason you shouldn't live as normally as you are able. I suppose I'm just jealous, Harry, jealous that you'll start to feel happy and like yourself before me when I might never again be the old Hermione and you'll get sick of me. Then, you'll ask me to leave and I'll have nowhere to go. I don't have people needing me anymore. They're either living their lives or have other people to lean on or leaning on them. You say you need me, Harry, but you're already making plans to have a temporary job at Hogwarts. You'll do just fine without me once you tire of having me around."

"Just stop! Stop right now! I will not just sit here listening to you say what I'm going to do and what I will do in the future, which is still uncertain. You know so much, Hermione, but you dropped out of divination, remember?"

She pulled away from her friend and looked at him through reddened eyes using her sorrowful face to coax a change of subject, "Anyway, when are you going to Hogwarts? Don't worry, I'm calm again, and I'm not going to try to stop you, it just would be nice if I could prepare myself for being alone here."

"I'll probably go tomorrow morning. I'll try and bring you back some Honeydukes chocolate. It'll make you feel better the next time." Harry told her, leading her over to the sofa where she had originally settled down.

"That would be nice," she murmured, still trying to regain her calm, "and actually I have something I would like to share with you, since we're sharing good news and such like."

Harry saw the glint of a smile that crept up and stole the limelight away from the straight-lipped expression she had worn every day lately. He briefly wondered if a recovery for her was not as far afield as she reckoned. It was definitely the first smile he had seen from her in over a week even if it still didn't reach her eyes as he remembered. That's what he prayer for to every divine being that he didn't really believe in while he waited for Hermione's grand reveal.

She reached over to the coffee table where her pieces of parchment and quills were resting. She put aside the shreds of parchment that bore her sweet little cartoons that he knew she drew to distract her from her innermost feelings of guilt, regret, sadness and overwhelming pain (physical, emotional and mental). What she handed over to her friend was reams of parchment scrolls, the sandy sheets covered with neatly aligned writing that went on and on.

"What?"

"It's what I've been doing to get my mind off everything," she interrupted, "I started writing. I read that journals can be really helpful in getting over things and trying to move on and somewhere along the ride, it just kind of turned into my, or I suppose it really is our, memoirs. I haven't finished yet and all of this only goes from when we met on the train at Hogwarts (the day my life really began) to right after The Battle of Hogwarts. I'm not really going to go into what we've been through since we moved into Godric's Hollow. It doesn't seem right somehow. I might put it in as a little epilogue but I want to get our school years right first."

"You've written about us looking for the Horcruxes?" Harry asked, stunned by how much of her writing there was and that she would include a topic so dangerous in them.

"Yes, everyone knows about them now, Harry. The Daily Prophet made it public knowledge, so I can't be blamed," she said fearfully, "but you needn't worry. I haven't said anything about how to make them or destroy them or anything that could be construed as Dark Arts Education. I was careful."

He nodded, satisfied that his learned friend would not be indiscreet. Simply, he was dying to delve deep into her secrets and how she truly felt since they met and perceived all their years together. Every other thought was currently being sidelined by the questions that being presented with her written memoirs stirred up.

"Go make yourself a cup of tea or some lunch while I read this. I can't read it properly with you staring at me like I've got a bomb strapped to my chest."

Having been dismissed but glad he was interested in what she thought, she left him to his reading. She would give him a few hours to process all that she had written and then she would reemerge.

Harry turned to the first page that bore a brief dedication and note from the writer. As he read it, he found his eyes tearing up already and hoped that she wasn't too much of a tear-jerking author, otherwise he was going to be blind by the end of the hefty tome.

_These writings are my memoirs. They are for everyone who lost someone in the Second War against Tom Riddle. They have been written down so that the sacrifices of those lost will never be forgotten or unappreciated by we the survivors. I am Hermione Jean Granger, Muggle-born called Mudblood, sorted into Gryffindor, ally of the Order of the Phoenix and close friend of the Boy Who Lived. My memories are mostly of him, the hero who saved us but more the person beneath the name, beneath the mask, and so, this is dedicated to him, my best friend and the best person I know...Harry James Potter._

Just the way she had put the sentiment was moving. That she had been scribbling away at this endeavour furtively when he thought she was just doodling and jotting things down was beyond belief. He had to believe what was before him though because it was one of her many achievements and he was so proud of his friend.

He flicked through the pages, relishing her portrayal of the troll incident and body-binding Neville Longbottom before the three friends faced the obstacles to reach the Philosopher's Stone. He had been there for those events, but it was the ones that were new to him that opened his eyes. Hermione's remembrances of the time at the end of their first year when he was still comatose after Quirrell and Voldemort's attack made cathartic reading.

_I sat, waiting for days for The Boy Who Lived to wake up. He had survived a fatal attack once more and although I knew he was a powerful wizard and told him so, I couldn't believe how vulnerable and young he looked. The wizarding world believed that he was a battle-worn hero even though he was only eleven years old then. I was no older myself but I knew that here was a boy with an uncaring family and the best I could be for him - I am always striving to be the best - was the best friend I could be. I could learn everything that would make him strong and protect him and keep him safe. That I have done and that was when I decided I would truly be part of the Golden Trio._

The Golden Trio...how Harry hated that name in the aftermath of that extract. Not because he resented his two comrades and friends their share of deserved glory, but because it implied that they had to be golden, not silver, not bronze, or whatever other element they had to be. Golden people are the ones who get sacrificed, who lose their wealth of knowledge and magic, as Hermione had. It was unfair of the world to make a sweet, bookish and innocent eleven year old girl strive to be part of a golden trio.

He didn't know if he could stand to read more at that time of how much of Hermione's pre-teen years were spent dedicated to sustaining his life and making sure he got hurt as little as possible. Something that did interest him, was her recollection of their third year, in particular their illegal salvation of Sirius from the Dementor's Kiss. He knew his experience as though it had only just happened, but her thirteen year old self's point of view would be educational, he was certain.

_What I saw when Harry and I busted Sirius free and one very temperamental Hippogriff was wonderful. It was a glimmer of happiness in Harry's eyes and the same reflected in his godfather's. It made my heart soar. The reunion of kindred souls who should have been together over a decade ago is a beautiful sight but also a sad one...when you know that you will be ever in the shadows, always looking in at what you want. I have never begrudged Harry any of his happiness but I came perilously close to it then. Sirius was right. I was the smartest witch but smart witches don't volunteer to get their heart broken time and time again. That was the beginning of the heartbreak of Hermione Granger. I gave up a great deal that night but until I wrote down how I remembered it I had no idea. I relinquished the larger part of my heart. I was young but for a boy who would attack a teacher, fight off Dementors, my love was unconditional and unspeakable. It was also unreturned but I was glad of that. If Harry Potter never knew how he had stolen Hermione Granger's heart, she wouldn't have been able to protect him, an unspeakable consequence of my selfish feelings._

"Bloody hell!" Harry spat out, uncertain how to react to the revelation that even back when they were both thirteen, Hermione had felt something for him and sacrificed her heart so she could better protect him from the demons in the night.

She had felt then, so keenly judging by her words and the unbearable tone of sacrifice permeating her every line. That was it. He couldn't stomach any more. When he remembered rescuing Sirius and their parting when he had flattered Hermione shamelessly (but truly), all he thought was that his godfather was free and that he might have a life with the guardian his parents intended to raise their only child. He had been completely oblivious to the inner workings of his best friend's heart. He knew he didn't feel that way about her, especially in the wake of everything they had done together and survived together, but he did love her enough to regret taking her for granted and causing her to think that any amorous feelings she had were 'selfish' or unacceptable because she was meant to protect him.

"Hermione," Harry bellowed, "Hermione, get back in here now!"

She threw herself round the corner, her face panicked and flushed, "What's the matter? Are you alright? What have I done?"

He held his head in his hands at her three questions that definitely illustrated the crux of her problem. Her first concern was general, her second was for his wellbeing and her third was that she was the root of his issues. It was devastating now that he could recognise the signs that had always been there that his female best friend had forsworn feeling love in favour of a platonic relationship with him. He would get her to feel love again. Today.

Harry thrust the scrolls of parchment off his lap and onto the floor. He strided out towards Hermione, ignoring her frightened expression, and met her lips with his. A moment of surprise and a weak shove later, she became receptive and melted into his searing kiss.

"You. Are. Not. Selfish." Harry stammered between kisses.

Hermione's eyes widened, "You read our third year. You know me."

Harry kissed her more fervently, confirming that he did know her, more than anyone else could or would. She had given up her feelings for him, now it was his turn to make them both _feel _something together.

"You gave up your feelings for me in every sense, so now, I'm going to make you feel something, anything, 'Mione. I'm going to make you feel something visceral, primal."

"I haven't felt anything but rage in so long, Harry," she moaned, "I don't know if I can be what you need."

"You already are."

With that, he pulled her closer to him and dragged her on top of him as they bounced onto the couch. He let her be on top, unwilling to take any control away from her now. All his task was in the heat of the moment was to elicit something from his best friend that would replace - or at least, alleviate - the pain. He would be like her...he would strive to be the best. It was his turn to not let her down.

She was a quick study, making light work of both of their clothes. It seemed that when given the chance and with the right partner, Hermione was a firecracker. Gone were the signs of apathy and irresponsiveness, she was alive and vibrant. It was how she was before the Department of Mysteries and Bellatrix Lestrange's torture session.

When both of them were fully nude, Hermione stammered, "This is a one-time thing, Harry, I'm not ready for anything more than sex. I can't make myself love you the way you deserve. We can't do this with false expectations."

"I have no expectations of you in this, 'Mione. I just want you to be in the moment. Don't psychoanalyse this or work it out. Just feel it, accept it and live it."

Although his words sounded scarily like a corporate slogan, he knew neither of them would have a lifetime love the way they had expected, but he was just glad of the sensation of a physical display of love, the love years of friendship had nurtured.

As she lowered herself unashamedly onto him, drawing them both closer together, matching their emotional bond with their physical, her barrier broke but she shed no tears. She had, after all, expended all her tears on her mental agony but was not willing to part with any because she was sharing something beautiful with the best of friends.

With each thrust, there was no evidence of the tender lovemaking of paramours but instead just two damaged, hurt and war-torn soldiers finding one mutual time of pleasure to interrupt the eternal pain. This was the therapy that both needed. Both knew that by being together and each other's solace they would find their way through the maze to the other side that awaited them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I am currently sitting in a very nice hotel on the outskirts of Marrakech in Morocco sipping on the final glass of a bottle of Diamour, which is where I chose to escape to for my Christmas, so I hope you will excuse the brief hiatus of this story while I've been on vacation! To tell the truth, your reviews have inspired me to write this while I am meant to be working on essays and critical commentaries and other academic assignments, but I have given my heart and my soul to this story of Hermione's (and Harry's) story. I can appreciate that it might not be to some people's tastes but keep in mind that I am writing from _my _perspective as someone who suffers from mental health issues who was once her friends' Hermione Granger but couldn't keep up and was left behind as they got through life, while I couldn't quite bear all it had to throw at me. If you are interested to see the gown I described for her, it is the one worn by Diane Kruger at the Cannes premiere of _Inglourious Basterds_ in 2009.

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><p>DaenerysTargary3n<p>

_To Mr Potter and Miss Granger,_

_It gives us great pleasure to invite you to the gala to be held in the Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry in honour of those who fell during the last great war against Tom Riddle. This ball will serve as not only a reminder that life can now be enjoyed thanks to those who sacrificed their lives so that we might endure, but also that those who survived Lord Voldemort's attack on our world can relish the liberty, love and laughter that can now flourish without corruption or evil thought or deed._

_As a personal favour, I would consider it an honour if you both, along with Mr Ronald Weasley, would consent to attend the gala as our own, privileged guests of honour. For, certainly without the sacrifices which the three of you made, the wizarding world would not be thriving in liberty, love and laughter. In short, Mr Potter and Miss Granger, we owe our current felicity to you and this evening would be a prime moment for the Minister of Magic, the government and the entire populace of our world to convey our gratitude for all you have done._

_Please do owl my office directly if you have any enquiries or requests. As always, we are at your service._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic_

"Oh shit!" Harry spat out, having just perused the missive brought by a first class ministry owl.

Luna looked up in alarm from her place on her beau's lap, "What's the matter, Harry?"

"Bloody Kingsley! Fucking, bloody, flipping Kingsley Shacklebolt! With his fracking galas to celebrate the biggest loss of life the fucking wizarding world has ever witnessed! It makes by effing blood boil!"

Both Luna and her boyfriend, the other war hero, Neville Longbottom, were accustomed to Harry's foul language. They reckoned it was how he vented his anger and frustration at the world he had helped to create in the wake of Voldemort's virtual _coup d'etat_. They had - both of them - spent hours on hours listening to his tirades on what it was like to be the constant and unfailing hero of the wizarding world. It was the least they could do for the lost soul…

"It won't be that bad, Harry," Neville bravely suggested, "I mean, at least it's a party, not a funeral. Plus, the invitation is to you and Hermione so you won't have to be on your own in the spotlight and me and Luna got an invitation yesterday so we'll be there too. I don't know, Harry, it could be a laugh...if you let it."

Harry James Potter couldn't help but admire and accept the wisdom that was in his closest friend's words. For, since Ron had absented himself from Hermione's paltry existence, and insodoing, his own, Neville and Luna had become fast friends to the former Boy Who Lived. He had always counted them both amongst his merry band of misfits and unlikely heroes, but as a couple, funnily enough Luna and Neville made even more sense as a unit. There was also the fact that the two of them, between Neville's simple and straightforward talking and Luna's complex and...unique way of thinking, had got him through his months of therapy and effort to rebuild Hogwarts. They had been his only anchor in the sea that was his attempts to help his bosom friend and survive in a house whose only other occupant was a veritable living ghost.

"It's not me I'm worried about, mate."

All three companions knew of whom the saviour of the wizarding world was speaking but none had an answer that bore thinking about. Hermione had withdrawn into herself in the most terrifying way. She had never been extrovert to be sure but this hermitage she had assumed shocked and made all concerned fret beyond measure. The worst part of her retreat into herself was the effect it was having on her housemate. For, Harry had begun to truly find his pathway out of the perpetual darkness into the light at the end of the tunnel, but his unease on behalf of his best friend was keeping him from reaching the gateway back into the world of the living and the whole.

"You need to accept that she may be beyond help." Neville whispered, not wishing to entertain the notion but not relishing the idea that Harry might lose the rest of his days to finding a cure for Hermione's melancholia and PTSD.

"No," Harry exclaimed, irate and incensed, "I _will _save her! She can be saved. She will be Hermione again!"

"Come now, Harry," Luna said gently, "she does nothing all day but write her memoirs, she sees no one but you and Mecklewit and she does not even see her alone. I love Hermione almost as much as you do but I can see how the war has plundered her soul, her body and her mind. I _hope _she will regain some of her former self but she lost too much of herself to Voldemort's followers and the fight. She's a shell of who she used to be, Harry. She may never recover, and that won't be your fault, my fault or anyone's except Voldemort's!"

It was as Luna's tirade elapsed that Harry saw that she did indeed care for Hermione almost as much as he did, but had evidently given up most of her hope that the brightest witch of their generation would find the strength within herself to recover from her injuries and traumas. He knew that it was a possibility but until the woman utterly shut down and held him at bay, he would continue to hope that she would make part of a recovery, if not a full one.

"She is getting better though. She talks about the war and when we were hunting the Horcruxes and how she fought. She never used to be able to do that at all. Surely, that's a sign that she is getting better...not worse?"

Neither Neville nor Luna responded to their friend's desperate question. Neither wanted to admit to the conversations they had shared that had centered around the possibility that Hermione would never find the lost aspect of herself that had once chided them all for not paying enough heed to their homework or had the administrative capabilities to arrange Dumbledore's Army or see Harry and Ron and countless others through the trials and tribulations that Riddle's incessant assaults had caused.

"Are you going to show her the invitation?" Neville asked hesitantly, shamelessly changing the subject.

Harry smiled smugly, "More than that...I'm going to take her. I'll show you, I'll prove to you that she can be around people when she has to. It's just that she only feels safe around a select few. She's well enough to go to the Victory Ball. Even if I don't understand Kingsley's desire to celebrate death and revel in it, I have no qualms about using it to prove to you guys that Hermione is strong enough to see all of you again."

Longbottom and Lovegood both shared their friend's hopes and dreams but found no chance of reality in them. Harry was so drawn in by his affection for Hermione that he was unable to sense the futility in attempting to resurrect her former self, however, neither wished to disabuse the Boy Who Lived so harshly. Thus, they let him be and wished him well on his way and spurred him on to invite and coax Hermione to the Victory Ball that came a year after Voldemort had fallen in the grounds of the school they had all once attended gleefully.

As he fell through the fireplace at the Lovegood-Longbottom abode into his own in Godric's Hollow, he came face-to-face with his housemate, who was - as could be expected - sitting in her favourite place in the lounge, quill in hand and rolls on rolls of parchment forming a moat around her. Her eyes were heavy, her fingers blackened, her hair dishevelled but she looked as peaceful and healthy as she ever did. Harry despaired of her state, for she left the house only for her rendezvous with Mecklewit and always she looked bedraggled, laden and weary.

"Hermione, I'm home." Harry announced, knowing that unless he did, she would remain entrammelled in her writing and lose herself.

"Oh, Harry," she smiled with only her lips, "I'm glad you're back. How were Neville and Luna?"

"Fine, fine, but a letter came addressed to both of us...an invitation."

Her eyes darted around her, almost as if she were looking for threat and danger, "An invitation to what, Harry?"

"A ball at Hogwarts to celebrate the Victory. Next week. We have to go, 'Mione."

She dropped her current scroll of parchment and sank to the floor. Her pitiful reaction to his news brought tears to his eyes but even though he took her into his embrace presently, which seemed to offer her some comfort, she refused to settle.

"I know you don't wish to set foot there again, sweetheart, but you won't be alone. I will not leave your side, not for one second and I'll have Mecklewit invited. You'll be safe and you won't have to speak to or be with anyone you don't want to, you just need to be there with me."

Hermione found herself quite lost once she understood what she had to do in seven days' time. The thought of leaving her haven in Godric's Hollow was frightening enough, but when the destination was Hogwarts, it was paralysing. She knew as a third of the Golden Trio, she was obligated to be present at such an event, but she had tried to retire from public life entirely and so far, had been succeeding. Everyone would be expecting to see Hermione Granger, the greatest witch of her generation, but very few knew she had lost her magic and lived an almost solitary existence. She was a shell of who she used to be and everyone realising how far she had fallen and in Hogwarts too, would be the end of her, she was certain.

"Hermione, please say something, love?" Harry pleaded, ignorant of how long he would have to rock his lost best friend to lure her away from the abyss into which she was about to plummet.

She looked up hesitantly and gazed into the green eyes holding her stare before placing a chaste kiss on Harry's cheek, "I'll go, but I hold you to never leaving me alone. Please don't ever leave me alone but especially not there, Harry, not at that school, not with everyone that fought there."

"I promise you that you'll be safe, and that I'll be right there holding your hand the entire time." Harry vowed, utterly cognisant of what it was she was preparing herself to do and how much of a part he had to play in ensuring she got through what would be an ordeal.

And so, the pair of them drove with Mecklewit to the gala a week later. Hermione flatly refused to apparate with either of her companions and forcing her into the grate was out of the question if they expected her to be conscious for the remainder of the evening. Harry had penned a letter to Kingsley informing him that they would arrive at Hogwarts by means of Muggle transport and all the necessary preparations should be made for that. The Minister had questioned the mode of travel but had not been told for why Mr Potter and Miss Granger with their plus one would not be apparating or using Floo Powder to reach the venue.

Harry donned his one dress robe that Molly Weasley bought him for the Yule Ball all those years ago which still brought out the verdancy of his eyes. Hermione had struggled to ready herself for the festivities so Harry managed to clothe her in a resplendent Marchesa gown of white and silver chiffon with Tiffany's & Co. jewels dangling from her neck, ears and wrists and beautiful, newly purchased silver Jimmy Choo court shoes. Her coiffure was done by him too, pinned back so her bushy and unmanageable hair would not obscure the beauty to be found in her face, with its fatigue and signs of illness masked by makeup.

Harry did not mind one jot that he had to singlehandedly dress and ready his friend for the evening he was forcing her to attend. In truth, he quite enjoyed the processes needed to exhibit a healthier and less damaged version of Hermione to the wizarding world and besides, she did look incredibly beautiful in her finery. That was worth every penny and knut...seeing her adorned as she deserved being a war hero and when he bought the Daily Prophet the morning after the party he would keep the clippings of the photos featuring him and Hermione. It would mark the next step on their road to recovery. Mecklewit arrived promptly and the three of them set off for the castle in the north.

There were floating lanterns and a line of brightly dressed aurors marking the way from the gates up to the doors of the Entrance Hall. If Harry hadn't been so preoccupied with the witch beside him clutching his hands with white knuckles, he would have remarked on the purity and simplicity of the magic that was surrounding the castle. It truly symbolised the forces of good that came together to oust the darkness and evil from the world. Kyanna, who had not been in the north since she finished her education at Hogwarts, was amazed by the beauty of the just completed school.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, the awe nearly choking her, "I had forgotten. You did a good job lending a hand to its restoration, Harry."

The young wizard nodded at her, "It looks complete and the home it once was to me and can now be again to others."

"It looks like it has been rebuilt after a battle."

Both Harry and Kyanna turned their surprised gaze to their companion and smiled sadly at her wan face. Her dull eyes were turned up to take in the castle and its grounds, looking but not seeing, finding the sorrow and the hardship in her alma mater instead of the renaissance and victory. Though for the rest of the invitees, tonight was a gala to celebrate the defeat of Tom Riddle, to Hermione and vicariously, Harry, the evening was a reminder of just how much they had sacrificed so that there might be unilateral felicity and how they might never get to share in that same felicity.

As the dolorous party of three neared the doorway, a swarm of photographers enclosed them and had to be fended off by the lines of aurors. Hermione did seem somewhat rattled by the military-like assault the journalists from various wizarding magazines and newspapers. However, when she found the niche in Harry's side that was of the utmost comfort to her, her breathing returned to a healthy, normal rhythm. Once she was safely conducted through the vestibule to the open space of the Great Hall, she was met by a different greeting, one of silence and hushed breaths. The entire room, milling with bodies, faced the pair who entered arm-in-arm and interrupted their conversations about the price of ergot and wagers on Quidditch matches to stare at them as if expecting fireworks or great orations.

Minerva McGonagall, one of the few who knew of her favourite student's suffering, climbed on to the dais at the opposite end of the hall and addressed the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, now that you have all seen that the guests of honour are now present. On behalf of myself and the Minister of Magic, I would invite you to enjoy this night of revelry and mirth to celebrate how far the wizarding world has come in the past year. There will be feasting, drinking and speaking but for now, I pray, enjoy the wonders this _new _Hogwarts has to offer!"

She concluded in a flourish and raised her glass to the rear of the hall, where Harry was still standing with the two women and nodded to her in thanks, aware that she had took to the stage in order to distract the mob from his and Hermione's advent. The fickle crowd's return to their own affairs and conversations granted the two thirds of the Golden Trio to find their way to the high table where there were some house-elves serving drinks.

"Winky," Harry exclaimed, "it's nice to see you again. How are you finding it here at Hogwarts?"

The usually intoxicated elf grinned at the saviour of the wizarding world, "Yes, Master Harry, we is happy to be serving at this school. Headmistress McGonagall is a kind and gracious mistress. We is liking it here. We has a daughter too, Irma, who can grow up here. We thanks you for helping to rebuild Hogwarts and for making the world safe again. Now, what would you and Miss Hermione and this lovely lady like to drink? We is here and happy to serve!"

The perkiness of the house-elf was infectious and in spite of his fretting for Hermione and how she was finding this party, Harry Potter smiled a genuine smile, one which Kyanna saw and took to be a sign that he would eventually find peace in the world he moulded with the losses of his blood, his sanity and his happiness.

"I will take a butterbeer, Winky, thank you. Hermione?"

The woman beside him looked pale but whispered to her small friend, "I will have ginger ale, please, Winky."

"You are both welcome, but Miss Hermione, you do not look well and we would be happy to find for you some medicine and make you well again."

Harry winced at Winky's words, said so sincerely but her kind offer was overwhelmed by the reminder of Hermione's ill health and mind. He found his eyes tearing up slightly at just how many people took pity on the greatest witch of the age and were prepared to dedicate themselves to returning light, love and _légèreté _to the life of Hermione Jean Granger. He hugged his bosom friend and felt his shirt moisten as she let the tears flow from her eyes.

"Thank you, Winky," she said, extracting herself from Harry's soothing embrace, "but I fear no medicine will be enough. Your kindness and care are welcome though, and much appreciated. I hope you live long and I would love someday to meet your daughter. If she is anything like her mother, she must be perfect."

Winky smiled, "We thanks you, Miss, she is and we would be honoured to present her to you. We would now but she is sleeping."

"Let sleeping house-elves lie, Winky," Harry interjected, "good sleep is the true sign of peace."

As a queue was forming behind the party, Harry led Hermione away with their drinks and permitted Dr. Mecklewit to place her order. He saw the room's occupants clamouring around a sea of redheads - the Weasleys - but wished not to subject Hermione to their attention and Ron's presence anymore than he wanted to see Ginny again. Instead, he pulled her close and walked with her towards someone less...notable. Hermione had only seen him and Kyanna in the past year and he couldn't imagine anyone better than Winky to provide an unexpected first foray into conversation with others, but for her second - and more planned - interaction, he hoped for someone she recognised from the past but someone unaffiliated with Hogwarts or painful memories.

Harry groaned as his hopes were to bear no fruit, for they had been glimpsed by a tall, lean redhead, who opted not to let them be.

"Oi, Harry mate," George yelled as he pursued them, "wait up!"

"Hi George, nice to see you. What can I do for you?"

The remaining Weasley twin did a double take as he felt the forced formality of Harry's words. He was flummoxed by his stance that was defensive to say the least. It was as though he viewed him as a threat and not the brother of his best friend.

"What's up with you? Why are you being so...weird?" He asked.

Harry snorted, "I didn't think you - or any of your family, for that matter - wanted anything to do with me after the battle. I don't expect to be treated as a friend, so I see no reason to treat any Weasley as a friend."

"Harry, you're talking crazy," George replied, "we are still your friends. We never stopped. It has only been recently for us that we've been able to move on from Fred's death. We - I - will never find peace or forget him, but we lost my brother, Harry. I'm sorry Ginny blamed you for his death, for what it's worth. He wouldn't have wanted that and he wouldn't have held you responsible. She regrets what she said and did, you know? It's what has made it so hard for her to get over Fred's death...knowing that it not only cost her her brother, but also the love of her life."

The lost and forsaken love of Ginevra Weasley felt something stir in his side as George finished saying his piece, but it was not longing or his own regret. It was Hermione looking up in her beautiful gown at George.

"Ron?"

Fred's brother looked at Hermione, "No, he doesn't want to see you..."

"George," Harry frowned, shaking his head, "don't."

"Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry for hurting you. The war broke my heart and my spirit and my everything," Hermione said, as though she were merely a conduit for some higher being, "I couldn't give you - or Harry - the love you deserve and so wanted from me after all that...after Bellatrix. I can't even use my bloody magic! All I can do is keep breathing and even that is getting harder and harder day!"

It was then that George understood. Indeed, everybody surrounding the three heard the young witch and understood. She was not seeing George Weasley, but his younger brother. As she basically screeched her innermost feelings at her imagined former lover, the wizarding world present beheld the war-torn and beleaguered mind of their hero. And, in that moment, Harry could nothing to shield her from the onlookers or the journalists that would profit from the story and images of Hermione Granger staggering to the floor as she unburdened herself to the wrong man.

"What on God's earth?" George gasped as Hermione fell to the floor still screaming her sorrow at him.

Harry followed his friend and one-time lover to the floor, trying to restrain her flailing arms and pacify her weeping eyes, whispering in her ear, "Sweetheart, it's Harry, I've got you. Ron is not here, it's just you and me now. Just close your eyes and it'll only be you and me. You'll be safe with me...you'll always be safe with me."

As Harry attempted to bring Hermione back to reality, he wondered where Mecklewit was and why she had not yet come to his assistance. It was afterall why he had procured her an invitation. Sadly, and tragically for Hermione, two people who sprang to her 'rescue' were not her doctor or people whom Harry wished her to be faced with under the present circumstances.

The pair of them, one redhead and one with dark locks of hair, bypassed the sea of photographers and journalists with their Quick-Quotes Quills. When they were met with the sight of a young woman floundering on the floor, her best friend clasping her tight to his chest and her resplendent gown pooling around her, their mouths flew agape and their jaws all but hit the floor.

"Harry," the redhead gulped, "what is wrong with her?"

The Boy Who Lived looked up into the azure eyes of his former closest friend and snarled, "She is remembering _you_! Now, get away from her, from us before she opens her eyes and sees you!"

"She needs help, man! Do not be so arrogant - let us help!"

Harry turned his gaze to the man standing beside Ronald Weasley and snarled at his impudence, "Krum, she has no need of you either and how dare you call me, _me _arrogant! I may have been the Boy Who Lived, I may have once wanted to be an auror but for the past year, while you have been tucked away with your family, the only family Hermione and I had was each other. We were both wounded, she more than both of us, Ron, you and Viktor, you selfish cunts cannot imagine the hell it's been to bring her here tonight. Winky was the first person she has spoken to besides me and our psychiatrist since she came to live with me one year ago and that was only minutes ago. Now, if you want to help, instead of standing about insulting me and spectating like these vultures, go and find Kyanna Mecklewit."

Ron could only listen and flinch each time he heard the pure venom in Harry's voice. Harry was never one to use foul language (it was always him who cursed) but when he railed against him and Krum, there was no restraint or mellowness in him. He nodded curtly and held his wand to his throat.

"Sonorus," he mumbled before his voice grew loud and resonant, "Kyanna Mecklewit, Miss Granger needs you. Come to the portrait chamber door."

Just as he and Krum turned to leave Harry and Hermione to their suffering and psychiatrist, they heard her faint voice call out to them.

"I loved both of you, you know? Not more than Harry, but I gave pieces of my heart to you, pieces I will never get back. A girl in a red dress gave you her heart, a girl in a red dress gave you her heart, a girl in a red dress gave you her heart."

All the four men in earshot of the young woman were perplexed at the mantra she adopted, but as she repeated the ten words, her eyes began to roll back into her skull.

"Hermione? Hermione! Hermione, come back, damn you! I told you to keep your eyes shut. Why couldn't you have just done as you were told and you'd be safe with me? Where have you gone, love? Come back!" Harry roared at his unconscious friend still in his lap.

"Harry," Mecklewit greeted as she fell beside her two patients, "what happened? How long ago did she faint?"

"Not long ago. She saw Viktor and Ron before she went and she was saying - repeating - a girl in a red dress gave you her heart. I don't know what she was talking about."

"The wedding," George said, "she wore red at Bill's wedding and danced with both before the Death Eaters came."

Mecklewit nodded, and instructed everyone clustering them to retrace their steps. She helped Harry to stand and told him that she had somewhat expected that Hermione would experience some kind of psychotic, nervous breakdown before the evening was done. She had not anticipated that it would be so vigorous or so quick to take its hold.

"We'll need to get her home," Mecklewit announced, before turning to one whose help had already been promised and was at-hand, "Winky, perhaps you might assist us in this?"

After Winky assented, Harry spoke up, "Will you stay tonight, doctor? While she is unconscious, I do not want to be alone with her."

"Harry, I'm sorry but I cannot stay at your home. My place is in my office. Your home is the place for both of you. I will clear my day tomorrow so when she wakes, which ought to be within the day, you should bring her in, but what she needs is to be in Godric's Hollow with you. I know you don't want to be alone with her, but she'll be alright and you just need to put her to bed."

So, Harry and Winky departed and together laid Hermione down on her bed and dressed her in her nightclothes before Harry thanked the house-elf who had gone above and beyond duty and still wearing his dress robes, climbed into bed beside his anguished companion and took what rest he could find beside her, just holding her hand.


End file.
